


Small Cuts

by orphan_account



Series: Of Monsters and Martin [10]
Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Blood, Dubious Consent, Knifeplay, M/M, Nudity, Self Harm, Trans Martin Blackwood, but no actual sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-08
Updated: 2020-06-08
Packaged: 2021-03-04 06:27:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,648
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24599017
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Martin hasn't hurt himself this much in a while. He goes home with someone to keep himself away from his blades, but he only ends up hurting himself more.(The Slaughter)
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Original Male Character(s)
Series: Of Monsters and Martin [10]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1776565
Kudos: 25





	Small Cuts

Martin had always had a secret affection for razor blades. As cliche as it was, he had no friends, his childhood was shitty bordering on traumatic, and he wrote poetry in his spare time. If he didn’t have at least a few scars, it might be just as strange. He hadn’t had cuts covering his thighs since he was a teenager, but he’d hardly stayed clean. Even when he was, he wasn’t trying to be. There were periods of months, even years, when his razor blades would sit in the medicine cabinet of his bathroom untouched, but he was never deluded enough to think that meant he’d gotten better. He never got rid of them, and when the urge came back he thanked his past self as he sat on the edge of the bathtub and carved up his thighs. Always small cuts, never more than an inch long, and always concentrated in an area small enough that he could cover it with a couple bandages.

And then Elias had Beheld him.

Martin was no stranger to crying. It was really a bit embarrassing how often he cried, it took very little to make him tear up. But he hadn’t cried like this in years. He was sobbing so hard he couldn’t breathe, his brain jumping back and forth between actually thinking about what Elias had said, which made him cry, and “oh my god, why can’t I stop crying,” which made him cry harder. After Elias had left and Melanie had picked him up off the floor, he’d felt a bit better, but the thoughts had come flooding back to him on his way home and he’d practically fallen to the ground outside his apartment building, hugging his knees to his chest and riding out another episode of uncontrollable sobs. Eventually he was able to stand again, and he walked up to his flat, rushed to the bathroom, and pulled his blades out of the cupboard.

His thighs were big enough that even after years of destroying them, he still had patches of undamaged skin to work with. Martin chose to see this as a positive thing. Scarred skin always felt harder to cut through, and he didn’t like the texture that came from concentrated masses of scar tissue. His hands were shaking, and he gripped the blade tightly, searching for a spot to cut. He found a patch of relatively clean skin and dug the blade in. His cuts were always shallow, he didn’t have nearly as high a pain tolerance as he liked to think, and the scars faded almost to the point of being invisible as long as he didn’t cut too deep.

He filled the patch of skin with angry red lines, letting the blood spring to the surface of his skin and dry there in tiny little droplets. He held the blade in his hand, trying to breathe normally. It should have been enough, he should have stopped there, but he was still crying. He still felt awful, he needed it to stop and he was going to keep carving himself up until he felt better. He moved the blade over, slicing between the faded pinkish lines of old cuts, covering a large patch of skin before moving on to his other leg and doing the same.

Martin stared down at the mess of his thighs. They looked awful in a way he hadn’t seen in a long time. The pain was enough to distract him from the events of the day, but he was still crying. Martin slid off the edge of the tub and then turned it on. Maybe a warm bath would make him feel better. If not, at least it would get the blood off him.

He sat in the bath for an hour, letting his blood turn the water pink. He should have been disgusted by it, but he was hardly disturbed by that sort of thing. He’d been seeing his own body covered in cuts and scars of his own making since primary school. He was used to it. It was almost nostalgic in fact, seeing his thighs covered with cuts.

Martin was limping the next day. He’d worn the most comfortable pants he owned, but the fabric still felt itchy against his fresh cuts. His thighs stung badly, and it was worse when he moved. He stayed at his desk for the entire day, afraid if he stood up and flinched someone would notice and ask what was happening.

Of course, Martin wasn’t stupid. He knew he’d made an absolute mess of himself, and as soon as he got home he’d get upset about it and end up making an even bigger mess of himself, so he opted to stay out for as long as possible. He eventually made it into a bar, which was a bad idea in and of itself, but he had the good sense not to get drunk. The bartender gave him a weird look when he asked for a coke (no, not a rum and coke, just a coke), but he was perfectly happy sitting around and listening to the other patrons bustle around him. Listening in on other people’s conversations was almost distracting enough that he could ignore the pain in his legs.

It took him a while to notice the man sitting next to him, leaning over and breathing down his neck.

“You smell like blood,” the man whispered.

“Excuse me?” Martin whipped his head around.

“I said your drink looks good,” the man said, a bit louder this time.

“Oh. Um… it’s just a coke.”

“Not a drinker, then?”

“Not tonight.”

“Ah.” The man took a sip on his own drink-a dark, almost reddish liquid Martin didn’t recognize. “You come here often?”

Martin blushed.

“Occasionally.”

“I thought I saw you leave here with someone a few months ago. How’d that work out?”

“Weird thing to remember.”

“I’ve got a good memory.”

“Well… no, it didn’t work out. It was a nice evening, sure, he was a good man, I just never called him back.”

“You have a lot of nice evenings?”

Martin took a long sip of his drink, trying to avoid making uncomfortable eye contact with the man. He wasn’t unattractive, but there was a slightly off-putting look in his eyes.

“I… don’t know. Sometimes?”

“It’s Martin, isn’t it?”

“Y-yes.”

“Ah. Good, good. I’m Tobias.”

“Hello,” Martin said, smiling cautiously and reaching out to shake the man’s hand. Tobias shook it firmly. His hand was slightly damp from the condensation on his glass.

“I don’t mean to sound forward,” Tobias said. “I just thought you looked like you could use some company.”

“That’s nice of you,” Martin said. “I honestly could use some company right now.”

“Would you want to go back to my place after this, perhaps?”

“I… I don’t know. I’m a bit of a mess right now.”

“I don’t mind.”

“It’s not going to be pretty.”

“It doesn’t have to be.”

Martin nodded. Any excuse to keep himself out of his own home sounded nice. And being with someone else through the night also seemed like a good idea.

“That sounds nice,” he said at last.

“Good.”

Tobias rested a hand on Martin’s thigh as they continued to sip their drinks. Martin flinched, but he didn’t push him away. He felt like it would have been arousing if he wasn’t so cut up, and it still sort of was, so he didn’t push his hand away.

Tobias’s apartment was only a few blocks away from the bar, and Martin was thankful he didn’t have to walk very far. Trying to steady himself on Tobias seemed a bit to clingy for a guy he’d just met, so he just tried his best to stay up on his own. When they entered Tobias’s flat, he motioned for Martin to sit down on the couch.

“So,” Tobias said, standing over him. “Anything you want to say before we get down to business?”

“Right here?” Martin asked.

“Yes. The couch should be comfortable enough. I haven’t had a partner before who had an issue with it.”

“Well… it certainly feels lovely, but… I’m not the smallest guy, see, and I just feel more comfortable in a bed.”

“Oh. Well, I apologize, but I don’t like having strangers in my bedroom. You understand.”

“I suppose that does make sense.”

“I wouldn’t be opposed to fucking you on the carpet, if you think that would be more comfortable. Just seems a bit degrading.”

“No, I’ll stay on the couch.”

“Good.”

Before Martin knew it, Tobias was kneeling on the floor between his legs, fussing with the zipper of his trousers. Martin knew he should say something, but he couldn’t figure out what. His usual speech before someone took off his pants was already awkward enough, adding that he’d just carved up his own thighs seemed like it’d be a surefire way to get himself thrown back out into the night.

“Is there a problem?” Tobias asked, noticing Martin’s anxious shifting.

“N-no, I’m okay. Just… I don’t know if you’ll like what you see.”

Tobias rubbed at Martin’s crotch. If he hadn’t noticed his lack of a real cock before, he surely noticed it then. Martin held his breath, but Tobias looked up at him and smiled.

“Don’t worry. I’m quite adaptable.”

“It’s not just that,” Martin muttered.

Tobias tugged at his waistband, and Martin shifted around, allowing him to take his pants off. He didn’t look down at the cuts on his thighs. He looked up at Tobias, trying to read his expression. To Martin’s surprise, his lips curled into a wide grin.

“Thought you said it wasn’t pretty,” he said.

Martin blinked.

“Martin…” Tobias whispered, dragging his fingers over Martin’s wounded thigh. “This is beautiful. I mean, I thought I smelled blood on you, but good lord, I haven’t seen something like this in a long time.”

“Thank you?” Martin said. He wasn’t sure how to feel about that compliment. It was weird, but he’d never had someone call his injuries beautiful before, and it felt good.

“Who did this to you?” Tobias asked. “You’ve got quite a few scars, so it wasn’t your first time…”

“I-I did it,” Martin admitted.

“Oh.” Tobias’s face fell. “You’ve… never had someone cut you?”

“No? Why would I do that?”

“Because it feels good,” Tobias said, patting Martin’s thigh. Martin winced. “Doesn’t it feel good when you’re doing it to yourself?”

“It… well, it makes me feel better. I don’t know if that’s because it’s good or just a different kind of bad.”

“You have masturbated before, right?” Tobias asked.

“Er… yes.”

“Think of the difference between touching yourself and being fucked. That’s what I want to show you. Would you like that?”

“I don’t know. My thighs are still sore, I just cut them yesterday.”

“I can cut you somewhere else. That belly of yours seems nice. Soft and sensitive. Bet you’d start whining as soon as the knife touched you.”

Martin lifted up his shirt, running a hand over the soft skin of his belly. He really was sensitive there. Part of him was curious about how it would feel to be cut there.

“Okay,” Martin said.

“You want it?”

“Yes. I want you to cut me. On my stomach.”

“Good. Wait right there for me, okay? And take off your shirt. Blood is hard to wash off.”

Martin nodded. He sat on the couch and watched Tobias walk away out of his sight to another part of the flat. He pulled his shirt off, feeling a tightness in his chest. He was nervous, but it wasn’t like he hadn’t felt this before. Just a different place this time, and someone else doing it, and with a knife instead of a razor blade, but cuts were cuts. He could handle it.

Tobias returned with a knife. It had a sharp pointed tip and was made of dark metal. Martin had always enjoyed the simple aesthetic of razor blades, but this knife was beautiful in an entirely different way. Tobias kneeled between Martin’s legs, dragging the tip over his belly.

“Not too deep, okay?” Martin said softly. “I don’t have the best pain tolerance.”

“A cutter who’s bad with pain? Really?”

“I don’t know, okay?”

“Look, I’ll start slow.”

Martin looked down at the knife as it slowly dug into his flesh. It was quite sharp and cut through him much more easily than his old razor blades. It barely even stung, but when Tobias pulled it away the cut oozed blood. It looked like a lot. Tobias ran his finger over the cut, and the pain hit Martin hard, making him whine a little.

“Feels good?” Tobias asked.

“Yeah,” Martin replied.

“Good.” He dragged the knife over Martin’s belly again, deeper this time. Martin hissed in pain. Tobias continued to cut him until his belly was a mess of bleeding, painful cuts. Martin placed his hand over them, feeling the blood flow between his fingers.

“You want it deeper?” Tobias asked.

“Alright,” Martin said. He was woozy from the pain, and he had no inhibition telling him it might be a bad idea.

Tobias plunged the tip of the knife about a half an inch into Martin’s belly. Martin screamed. It was horribly painful, far more painful than any cut, and he’d been given almost no warning. He gripped the edge of the couch and breathed heavily as Tobias dragged the knife through his flesh. Martin’s glasses fogged up with tears. He wanted it to stop, but he was in too much shock to form words. Tobias pulled the knife out and pushed it in again, dragging another long cut down Martin’s belly. After a few of these, he brought the knife to his lips and licked the blood off. Martin hated that he found it hot.

“Deeper?” Tobias asked again.

Martin was still shaking and gasping from the previous round of cuts.

“N-no,” he said.

“Come on,” Tobias said, grinning and pressing the tip of the knife against Martin’s belly. “Just one. You’ll like it.”

“Alright. Just one.”

Tobias plunged the knife in. Martin squinted his eyes shut so he didn’t see how deep it went, but it felt like it went pretty deep into him. He screamed as Tobias started dragging the knife, slowly pulling a long cut into his flesh. The pain was overwhelming. Martin felt himself losing consciousness. He clung to the couch, trying not to let himself go, certain Tobias would keep hurting him if he did, but either the blood loss or the pain or both became too much and his eyes fell closed.

He woke up in a hospital bed, his belly throbbing.

“Wh-what happened?” he asked the nurse sitting beside his bed.

“From what I was told, neighbour heard screams and called emergency services. They found you… like this. Neighbour said they’d never seen you before, so the police suspected kidnapping. If you’d like to give a statement, I can send someone in.”

Martin shivered. He very much did not feel like making a statement.

“It wasn’t kidnapping,” he said softly. “The… the cuts. Am I going to be okay?”

“Yes, it wasn’t anything life-threatening. You must have been in there for a while, huh?”

“I-I don’t think so. What day is it?”

“Thursday.”

“No. I must’ve only been there overnight. Unless it’s been a whole week, in which case I don’t know why they still hurt so much.”

“Really?” the nurse said. “The doctors said the cuts on your thighs were at least a day old. Guess I’ll have to go back and check with them.”

Martin didn’t bother to explain himself. It wasn’t a conversation he wanted to be having. He just wanted to go to sleep and forget about this and probably never look at a knife again.


End file.
